


Loki: The Amazing, Allergy-Inducing Kitten-Thing

by pippen2112



Series: Dammit Barton Series [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Allergic Reactions to Magical Creatures, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Comedy, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad things invariably happen when Asgardians show up in New York.</p><p> </p><p>Alternative Universe -- Takes place without regard to the events of Iron Man 3, Thor 2, and Agents of Shield.  Part of the Dammit Barton Series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loki: The Amazing, Allergy-Inducing Kitten-Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grimmalie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmalie/gifts).



Bad things invariably happen when Asgardians show up in New York.  Of course, no one ever mentions that when the Norse God of Thunder barrels into the living room of Avenger’s Tower and calls in a decidedly not-indoor voice “GOOD FRIENDS, I HAVE RETURNED!”

 

Tony, Bruce, Steve, and Clint all heave a collective sigh and turn away from the television, toward the elevator.  Natasha arches a single eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.  She merely shifts slightly and returns to the book she’s been reading.  Steve scoots sideways on the sofa to make room for Thor; if he momentarily presses a bit too close to Tony, nobody mentions it.  “Hey Thor, how was Asgard?”

 

“Riveting as always,” Thor bellows.  “My father has agreed to allow me leave from my duties so that I might meet with the Lady Jane and focus on my brother’s rehabilitation.”

 

At the mention of Loki, an uneasy quiet courses through the room.  It’s most visible on Clint’s face, where his eyes tighten and he stills on the corner of the couch.  Still, the motion is almost imperceptible.  Bruce leans forward and asks the question they’re all instantly dreading.  “Loki’s in New York?”

 

“Yes, but you have nothing to fret over.  To be allowed outside of Asgard, Loki entered into an agreement with our mother,” Thor explains.  “Should he cause any manner of trouble or harm, a curse of transformation shall befall him, and he shall remain changed until he has repented for his wrongdoing.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as the tension pulses in the air.  Natasha looks up from her book.  Steve’s hands tense.  Bruce recites his mantra.  Clint counts the escape routes.  Tony looks up at the ceiling and counts “Five, four, three, two....”

 

An alarm sounds through Avengers Tower, and four cellphones bleat.  As the team stands, Tony checks his phone.  “The alert is coming from the reactor.”

 

Several floors below, they find a shattered security booth, a mess of tangled wire that used to connect the lower level cameras to the central monitoring station, and a tiny ball of black, green, and yellow fur mewling under Loki’s coat.

 

“Huh,” Tony says, pulling away the coat and grabbing the kitten by the scruff of its neck.  It hisses and claws at him, but its short legs can’t reach any farther.  “Didn’t expect that transformation to be of the cute, fluffy variety.”

 

For some unknowable reason, no one finds that quite as funny as Tony does.

 

#

 

Bruce runs several tests on the…well, they aren’t quite sure what to call it.  It looks like a kitten, except the ears are enormous and rounded like an oversized wallaby, its face is long and pointed like a fox, and its tails—yes, plural, tails—are narrow and dexterous like a monkey.  Regardless, Loki retains his dark green eyes and vengeful scowl.  Thor holds his brother in place while Bruce pokes and prods him with various scientific instruments.  Tony lingers a few feet back, standing on his tiptoes and trying to watch, but also wary enough to keep his distance.  Natasha perches on the countertop while sharpening a few throwing knives and looking just shy of aloof.  Steve holds his shield in front of him and stays against the back way, just in case.  And Clint, well, Clint glares through the observation window with the tiny ginger Cat perched on his head.  _If looks could kill_ , Bruce thinks as he takes a sample of Loki’s fur and watches the Cat glower.  He can’t recall ever seeing a Cat frowning, but it’s eerily close.

 

His handheld scanner beeps, and Bruce looks down at it.  Thor angles his head to get a peek.  “Have you discovered what ails my brother?”

 

Bruce reads over the screen and shakes his head.  “Well, whatever he is, he’s not matching anything in SHIELD databases.  Mostly, his DNA still matches the samples we took after New York.  But this isn’t like any creature on earth.  Do you recognize him?”

 

Thor, too, shakes his head.  “Nay.  I have never laid eyes upon this type of creature.  I suspect the curse combined with the irregularities of his lineage has turned him into such a beast.”

 

Tony snorts, which earns him a glare from Loki.  “I think it has to be over a foot tall to be called a beast.”

 

“Not if you know how to use it,” Natasha quips.

 

No one, even Clint, laughs.  Somehow, that feels most appropriate.  Steve ducks to hide his flush and mutters, “Loki’s coloring looks kind of like a calico.”

 

“Apart from the green, yeah,” Bruce says.

 

“Except that calico cats are female,” Tony comments.

 

“Well…” Bruce trails off, looking pointedly at Loki’s posterior. 

 

Four sets of eyes follow Bruce’s gaze, and four mouths gape, even Natasha.  Clint and the Cat remain unimpressed.  Tony’s shoulder shake with the effort to keep from laughing.  The Loki-cat-thing hisses and smacks Bruce across the face with its tail.  If he turns a little green in response, no one mentions it.

 

#

 

Unsurprisingly, the unanimous decision across the SHIELD leadership is to keep Loki sequestered at the Avengers Tower.  Sure, they could lock the God of Lies in a cell somewhere deep in their vaults…but as Loki masterminded an escape from the Hulk Tank, they don’t want to risk him getting loose and lost in SHIELD HQ. 

 

So, like before when Thor brought home Lord Yngvarr the High, the team adjusts to having another four-legged resident in the tower.  Yes, Natasha bitches about the excess of black, gold, and green cat hair that seems to have coated every surface.  Yes, Steve’s case of the willies re-emerges.  Yes, Coulson shows up to stare at the strange creation his arch-enemy has morphed into.  But by in large, life goes on for the Avengers.  They fight.  They play.  They pull pranks.  Only now, they have a pissy God who hasn’t quite learned how to function with four legs or how to use the litter box.  The latter, however, may be more out of protest than anything.

 

In fact, the person who’s least comfortable with Loki’s newfound presence in the Tower isn’t even Loki himself—though he never fails to make his displeasure known.  No, the Cat has the hardest time adjusting to another fluffy critter in its midst. 

 

One time, as she’s hurrying to a meeting, Pepper Potts stops halfway down the hallway to find the Cat and Loki engaged in a strange kind of standoff.  They’re sitting about five inches away from each other, hair on end, eyes heated, each almost daring the other to strike.  Loki slides left; the Cat mimics it.  The Cat pushes one foot forward; Loki retreats.  Pepper half-suspects the two to stay in this strange confrontation before the Cat pounces, boops Loki on the nose, and scampers off while Loki stumbles over four feet and topples into a ball of multicolored fur.  Pepper laughs.  Loki glares at her, hisses, and drags himself away with his tail between his legs.

 

#

 

The first one to show symptoms is Clint.  To be sure, he’d kept clear of Loki because getting even be damned, he doesn’t handle people in his space well, and after finding black-green-gold cat hair on the floor of his bathroom and between his bed sheets, he forsakes all of hope sleeping until Loki has been whisked back to Asgard.  Three days later, when he’s falling asleep while training new SHIELD recruits, his ire flares up, and he nearly shoots a particularly mouthy recruit in the groin.  Then Coulson drops a mountain of past due paperwork on his desk and demands in his mild-mannered dialect of Coulson-ese that Barton tie up those loose ends before heading home for the day.  By the time Clint stumbles into the elevator at Avengers Tower, he’s sporting half a dozen fresh paper cuts that sting worse than some of the torture sessions he’s endured and is severely P.O.ed.  When the elevator doors slide open to reveal Loki hunched in front of the door with a dastardly look on his fox-face, something snaps.

 

The rest of the team is lounging in the living room, enjoying some time off, when they hear a startled yowl and a black blur scampers across the room with a red-faced Clint Barton on its tail.  Before anyone can so much as quirk an eyebrow, Thor bounds to his feet, leaps over the back of the couch, and grabs Clint around the waist, pinning his arms and pulling him off the ground.  At the discovery that he is trapped and can move no further, Clint shimmies, shifts, and kicks to get free, all the while cursing up a storm after the fleeing animal. 

 

“Woah, calm your tits, Katniss,” Tony says quickly.  “We’re all tense about the houseguest.  No need to get violent.”  Tony’s gaze inadvertently slips down, and his eyes widen.  “And why the fuck do you have an erection?”

 

Clint’s heated glare turns on Tony.  “You wanna go, Stark!  I will put you through the floor.”

 

Bruce snickers reflexively.  He knows he shouldn’t find it so funny, but as far as viable threats go, Clint’s words are like a puppy threatening to do anything but be hopelessly adorable.  In a condescending way, it’s actually kinda adorable.  Tony, however, just slides into Stark Smirk #1, more commonly known as “Bitch, please.”  He snaps, and in three seconds, plates of the Iron Man armor slot into place and the face mask drops with a cavernous thud.  “Bring it on.”

 

Clint pulls harder against Thor’s hold, and Iron Man squares up like he’s ready to fight.  Just before Clint can flail any farther and get an extra inch of room on Thor’s hold, Steve steps between the two and peaceably presses his palms to their chests.  Well, no, not Steve.  From the set of his shoulders and the angle of his head, he’s gone into Captain America mode.  Bruce’s suspicions are confirmed when he speaks.  “Cool off, you too.”

 

Iron Man snaps its head toward Steve and takes a step back and shakes himself.  When the face mask slides up, Tony’s face is covered in faint purple splotches.

 

“Banner,” Steve says, fighting a smile as he turns to Bruce.  “I think we may have a problem.”

 

From where he’s standing, Bruce is inclined to agree.

 

#

 

They get Barton into an isolation unit, which does little to dampen his ire.  In the meantime, things with the team take a turn for the dramatic.  When Tony discovers the purple spots that have taken residence on his face, he locks himself in his workshop and hijacks the cameras and intercom in Bruce’s lab.  Natasha tries not to think of it as a bitch fit, but the exasperated sigh Pepper gives when she hears about Tony’s outburst erases that notion.  

 

While Bruce collects blood and tissue samples from the team--it takes an awful lot of sweet talk to convince Tony that Pepper does, in fact, love him despite the “violet monstrosities” that have taken up residence on his face and that a blood test will help them get everything back it order--Coulson strolls into the lab with an air of authority that works well on him.  He takes in the scene--Clint cursing himself blue behind the triple-reinforced glass, Tony commenting over the intercom like a vindictive god, Natasha and Steve wearing equally bemused expressions, Bruce squinting at lab results, and Thor acting less like a fearsome God of Thunder and more like a Cheerleading Captain.

 

“What’s the situation?”  Coulson asks briskly, looking over the team.

 

“Barton’s gone hotheaded and Stark’s sprouted spots,” Natasha explains quickly, which, inexplicably makes Steve giggle.

 

Not a snicker.  Not a chortle.  But a full-fledged, girlish giggle.  Every eye is drawn toward him, several eyebrows quirked and at least one jaw dropped.  “And our Star-Spangled Man has apparently reverted into a school girl,” Tony’s voice crackles over the speaker.  “And don’t forget the erections, Agent.  Seriously, Bruce, why the fuck is everyone sporting unnecessary wood?”

 

Coulson starts to give an exasperated sigh and tries not to look at Clint who’s raging against the door of the isolation unit.  Luckily Bruce starts talking and distracts him.  “It looks like we’re all undergoing some strange reactions.  At a chemical level, our bodies are experiencing a spike in histamine.”

 

“Allergic reactions?” Pepper asks from the doorway, washing her hands after delivering Tony’s samples.

 

“In a simplistic sense, yes,” Bruce answers.  “But the markers are only showing up in a few samples.”  Bruce shuffles through the pages of results, calling out the names as he finds them.  “Barton.  Rogers.  Banner.  Stark.”

 

“You’re afflicted too?” Steve chuckles.

 

“It probably won’t be long until I’m going coocoo,” Bruce comments, working at his collar.  “Is it getting hot in here to you?”

 

Thor angles his head curiously.  “Doctor Banner?  There has been no alterations in temperature in the last few minutes.”

 

Bruce groans and leans against the lab table, his cheeks and neck flushed and his gaze downturned.  With a worn, gravelly tone, he says, “Fuck, do _not_ stop talking.”

 

Instead, however, the room falls silent for about three seconds--expressions of awe and aghast coloring the faces of the team-members--until Steve giggles again, which does nothing to break the tension in the room. 

 

“Well, that was unexpected,” Tony quips over the intercom.

 

Bruce looks up, his gaze hooded, and his pupils dilated.  He looks down quickly, face red.  “You guys should probably get out of here.  I don’t know why this’s happening, but I don’t know how the Other Guy will react.”

 

Coulson and Thor hurry Natasha, Pepper, and a still-giggling Steve out of the lab. In the hallway, they regroup.  “So, something’s afflicting the team,” Coulson starts.

 

“No, something’s affecting the men,” Pepper comments.  “Tasha and I are fine.”

 

Thor throws his hair over one shoulder and scoffs.  “Lady Pepper, surely you do not suggest the Son of Coul and I are lacking in virility.”

 

“Hah!” Steve guffaws, and curls in on himself, clearly suffering from laughing pains.  “Thor and Phil lost their penises!”

 

The only funny thing about that is how Steve’s voice gets high and squeaky when he tries to say “penises.” 

 

“So, what’s changed?” Coulson asks.  “What’s different in the Tower that could have caused these reactions?”

 

And right on cue, the Loki-cat scampers across the cross-hall, the Cat hot on his tail with a mischievous look in its eye.  Natasha can practically hear the chorus of “Oh”s settle over the group coupled with the hoarse pang of Steve’s breathless laugh.  Really, it should have been more obvious.

 

All at once, Coulson turns back to the group.  “We need to put the Tower on lockdown.  Ms. Potts, check on Stark.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he tries to shave off his spots.  Thor, get Rogers to the infirmary and get him some oxygen.  Super-soldier or no, if he keeps laughing, he’ll pass out.  Then you and Natasha, keep an eye on Banner and Barton.  If anything happens, sedate them both and let them sleep it off.”

 

“What about you, sir?” Natasha asks as Coulson turns down the hallway.

 

“I’m going cat-fishing.”

 

If anyone thinks it’s a bad idea--and they all do--nobody says a word.  Except Steve, of course, but he can’t help the strange little chortles that keep gasping out of his throat.

 

#

 

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!” Loki yowls, but unfortunately, the curse only comes out as an agitated hiss.  He’s got an infernal, ginger beast bearing down on him, and only half the time can he make his four legs work accordingly.  He swears, the moment he’s back in his normal body with control of his magic, he plans to devastate the fuzzy menace a hundred times over.  Damn Odin and Frigga for this infuriating curse.  Damn Thor for bringing him to this backwater planet.  Damn Stark for having such delightfully enticing works to make a mess of.  And damn the little monster that is clawing at his heels.

 

Loki swings his tails back and forth, trying to throw off the Cat (his nemesis), and he nearly shits himself when he actually hits the beast and it scurries away with its tail between it legs.  Loki turns to watch the Cat slink away with a look of smug satisfaction, only to notice a human in a dark suit strolling up the hallway toward him.  On instinct his back arches and his fur stands on end.  “Go away, puny human!” he calls, but it only comes out as a low growl.

 

The human stops, cocks his head to the side, and raises a hand in friendly acknowledgement.  “Hello again,” he says blandly.

 

Loki holds the exaggerated position for a few minutes longer than strictly necessary before he sinks down onto wary paws.  It doesn’t hurt to be ready to fight of flee, even if he’s lost most of his previous height.

 

“I know,” the man says as he continues toward Loki, “I’m probably the last person you expected to see again, what with the whole spear in the chest business.  It’s amazing what modern medicine can do for a man.”

 

He stops a few feet away from Loki and crouches down to his level.  _Good_ , Loki thinks, _all the easier to claw out his eyes_.  He kneads the carpet with extended claws.  The man extends his hand with an open palm.  “Foolish human,” Loki murmurs.  “I am your god!”  If it only sounds like a low growl, the man has the decency to hesitate at the threat.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man says slowly.  “In fact, I’m what they call a cat person.”

 

Loki doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but his eyes fixate on the hand.  It’s almost close enough to scratch, and yet, a small, instinctive part of his brain prods him to get closer.  Maybe if he just... sniffs the hand... he’ll be able to ascertain the man’s weaknesses.  To the logical part of his brain, it sounds ridiculous, but all the same, Loki cranes his head forward and touches the hand with his snout.

 

While he’s so focused on the hand in front of him, he doesn’t notice the way the man’s pupils dilate and his breathing quickens.  However, Loki does notice a few moments later when he’s tackled into the ground and pinned, no held, no...cuddled into the man’s chest.

 

“NO, HUMAN, UNHAND ME!  I AM LOKI OF ASGARD!  I WILL NOT BE CUDDLED!  I WILL NOT BE CU---”

 

The Loki-cat shrieks, sinks its claws into Coulson’s jacket, and freezes when Coulson starts rubbing behind his ears.  Almost instantly, he dissolves into a puddle of purring goo.

 

#

 

“I thought Coulson was a cat person before and all,” Tony quips over the intercom, still self-sequestered in his room and still commandeering the security cameras for his personal ends, “but this is ridiculous.  It’s like watching a life-sized Pepe lePew, only rape-y-er.”

 

Tony isn’t incorrect, Natasha considers as she stands at the side of the living room, watching Coulson cling to and cuddle the Loki-cat.  She was less than surprised when Coulson started exhibiting symptoms, but she won’t lie, she hadn’t expected this kind of a reaction from Coulson.  The only thing she’s ever seen him cling to are his newly signed Captain America trading cards that Fury refurbished after using them to push the Avengers into a team before New York.  Still, Natasha can’t quite be concerned for Loki.  The creature in questions acts like an unruly prisoner or a basking devotee depending on if Coulson’s petting him or not.

 

“Hopefully Bruce can get an antihistamine whipped up quickly,” Tony continues.  “If Barton gets any pissy-er, we’re gonna need a new isolation chamber.”

 

Natasha looks up incredulously at the nearest security camera.  “If cat hair keeps getting into that room after the third chemical scrubbing, you already do.”

 

Natasha holds steady eye-contact with the security camera until the red blinking light turns off, and Jarvis says exasperatedly, “Mr. Stark would like me to inform you that he would very much appreciate it if you would stop poking holes in his tower.”

 

Chuckling, Natasha turns away and heads back to her room.  Sometimes, you have to just laugh off egomaniacal billionaires and let them think they’re right.

 

#

 

Loki, himself, is equal parts confused and enraged at the development.  He used to be able to secret away to an unused floor of Avengers Tower, nap in a sunny window, and plot the demise of the team that was currently holding him captive.  Now, the dull man the others call Coulson keeps him attached at the hip, always slung in the crook of the man’s arm or perched on his shoulder.  Half the time he puts up a valiant effort to escape, clawing and yowling to get free from the man.  The other half of the time, Coulson curls his fingers around the nape of Loki’s neck and finds the spot that turns his insides into goop.

 

Right now is one such time.  It’s well past midnight in the tower, and most of the occupants have already gone to bed.  Coulson’s watching reruns of bad reality TV \ on the couch with the Loki-cat cuddled close to his chest, rubbing him with curling fingers.  Every time his fingers flex, Loki’s eyelids flutter closed and his back arches.

 

“Oh fuck, that feels amaz--WHY AM I BEING CUDDLED I AM A GOD YOU MOTHERFU--Oh right there, that’s the spot!”  Loki thinks as Coulson switches hands.  The next time he pauses, Loki squirms and tries to get away.  “I HATE HUMANS!”  Then the scratching starts again, and he melts.  “If you ever stop petting me, I will murder you with a thousand tiny knives.  I’m in heaven...”

 

Coulson chuckles as Loki stretches out on his chest and slumps down.  “On the inside, you aren’t so scary, are you?  Just a big, spoiled kitten in need of some love.”

 

The Loki-cat freezes under Coulson’s ministrations, and its green eyes flash open.  Coulson doesn’t notice and keeps rubbing the top of the kitten’s head.  “Don’t worry, though.  The anger goes away when you have the right people in your life, the ones who show you how much you matter.”

 

Coulson yawns midsentence and closes his eyes with the Loki-cat held close.  When his breathing evens out and his hand stops moving, Loki doesn’t try to wriggle out of his hold.  Loki doesn’t really do anything for a long time until his vision has cleared up and his paws knead the sleeping man’s chest.  Through the pads of his little feet, he can feel Coulson’s heartbeat, a heartbeat he made stop a few short years ago.  Ancient history to some species.  To him, it was only a blink of his eye. 

 

And yet, the human beneath him had...forgiven him?  How did he deserve such kindness, and what had he done since?  Only foul deeds.  But those had been to gain his rightful place in the Asgardian court.  Those had been to settle the score.  So why did he feel farther behind than ever?  Why had nothing worked out for him?  Maybe... maybe he could be better.  Be worthy of forgiveness.  But what were the odds of that ever happening?

 

Befuddled, Loki curled close under Coulson’s hand and laid down his head.  After all, it was late, and the man was surprisingly warm.  It was a small comfort for a monster like him.

 

#

 

When Coulson comes to, he’s instantly aware of a weight on his chest.  It’s cool and heavy like a breathing block of ice.  He blinks awake in the early morning light and sees a mop of dark hair resting on his chest.  Huh, he couldn’t remember falling asleep with anyone, just the Loki-cat.

 

There’s a groan from the head, and the person sleeping on top of him snuggles into his chest.  Coulson curls one arm around the person, pulling them closer as he cranes his head around to see a narrow, pale face that used to haunt his nightmares.  Unintentionally, he gasps, and Loki’s green eyes flash open to meet his. 

 

For a minute, they hold eye contact in tense silence.  Coulson’s heartbeat pounds and his fingers itch for the gun stowed under the couch cushion.  Loki’s hands tense on his t-shirt.  Neither of them blink.

 

Then, the elevator dings, and the doors whoosh open.  There’s a set of brisk, quiet footsteps and a high pitched meow.  Coulson breaks eye contact to meet Clint’s wide-open gape and the Cat’s silent judgment.  He doesn’t get a chance to so much as squeak before Clint turns on his heel--cheeks flush with anger--and stomps over to the intercom panel on the wall.  Clint punches the button with more force than necessary and barks, “Thor, your brother’s naked and on top of Coulson.  Maybe shit’ll get back to normal now.”

 

Before anyone can answer, Barton storms off with the Cat in his wake.  If Coulson hears a shatter a few moments later, he tries not to think about it.  Instead, Loki swallows and starts to push himself off Coulson.  When Phil gets an eyeful of the god’s leanly-muscled chest and he feels his blood rush southward, he compulsively pulls Loki back down on top of him and holds tight. 

 

The small, practical part of Coulson’s mind cringes.  Shit is as far from normal as it could possibly be.

 

#

 

It turns out that just because Loki’s curse has lifted, that doesn’t mean the allergic reactions have abated.  In fact, it seems that after Loki gets back to his tall, skinny, bipedal self, the symptoms only get worse.  Clint’s aggression goes off the chart.  Tony’s self-sequestering jumps to a new level of crazy when he bio-locks himself into his workshop.  Bruce starts humping the nearest flat surface and spews verbal filth at the blink of an eye.  And Steve cackles so hard he cracks a few ribs-- they heal quickly, but still, three broken ribs in a week is still annoying. 

 

Meanwhile Natasha and Pepper play peacekeepers, Thor tries to manage the worst of the team’s reactions, and Coulson steadfastly refuses to let go of Loki, even as the fleet of maids Pepper hires to deep clean Avengers Tower hop to work.  With most of the cat-hair removed, the team regains some semblance of normality.  Tony gets over his crippling self-consciousness and marches down to Bruce’s lab.  Bruce, equally in control of his rampant lust, puts his nose to the grindstone and together, the two geniuses whip up the right anti-histamine to knock out the team’s reactions until the last of the Loki-cat hair can be found and neutralized.

 

Now that he is returned to his normal self, Loki and Thor arrange to return to Asgard.  Odin has declared it unwise to allow Loki to roam free given his mischief.  Fury is inclined to agree with him.  Even Loki, who feels differently after the time he spent as a kitten creature, agrees with the assessment and goes willingly.  When he and Thor depart the Tower, Coulson makes himself purposely absent.  Somehow, he doesn’t think the God of Lies wants to remember being forcibly cuddled by a middle-aged man with an inappropriate erection.

 

From there, life at Avengers Tower gets back to normal.  Tony makes himself ever-present and returns control of the intercom to Jarvis.  Steve re-learns the meaning of a good joke.  Bruce renews his vow of abstinence.  Clint and Natasha go on missions, spar, and mercilessly bitch at one another.  In fact, the only member of the household who holds out against the return to normalcy is the Cat who vindictively reclaims his territory with the judicial application of urine.  Coulson bears the brunt of this attack and loses two and a half suits as the Cat marks his human.  Whenever Coulson stumbles into a bathroom to clean up, he can’t help noticing the subtle chuckle that drifts down from the air vents.  He doesn’t mention it the next time he sees Clint.  The small, rational part of his mind that chides himself for cuddling a Norse god can’t begrudge Clint’s behavior. 

 

Still, cat urine is a bitch to clean.

 

FIN


End file.
